Welcome to Hyperion Records, an independent British classical label devoted to presenting high-quality recordings of music of all styles and from all periods from the twelfth century to the twenty-first.

Hyperion offers both CDs, and downloads in a number of formats. The site is also available in several languages.

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The leaves now rustle so yellow and red, They gaze through the window no more, The twitter of birds is silent and dead, The sunshine gone! Bound to fade was the joyous green, The leaf-framed window is empty and deserted.

Arisen full of new strength I greet, oh Lord, thy light And turn towards thy works My happy countenance. How gloriously the sun shines forth Awakening life’s full chorus!

In jubilant song now resound Field and bush and air, And from the wood’s grand vestibules Morning’s fragrance is freshly streaming. The little bird sheds the dew, Ascending and singing in the bright blue.

Ever higher the sun is soaring In its triumphant course, Everything alive is breathing delight, And what was asleep awakens. Oh Lord, in thy sunshine, How glorious it is to be alive!

One glance from your eyes into mine, One kiss from your lips onto my lips, If one, as I, has that safe knowledge, What can afford greater happiness?

Distant from you, estranged from all kin My thoughts circle incessantly, Ever alighting upon that hour, That single hour; and I begin to weep.

My tears then dry again unbidden: His love, methinks, it reaches into my seclusion, Should not mine as well venture so far? Hear then the lisps of this tormented love; My only happiness on earth is what you will So kindly unto me: Give me a sign!

The dull winter is past, The swallows return; Now everything is born anew, The spring replenishes everything. Fresh leaves softly emerge to the daylight, The flowers now announce themselves; Like little snakes the laughing Cool brook makes its way through the forest.

Wherever one looks, almost all the world Prepares itself for joy; Everything is happy, Nearly all is lost in pleasure. Only I alone, suffer agony, Suffering without end: Since you and I, O beloved, had to part.

This song holds a special place in Mendelssohn’s output as his last completed composition – he died less than a month later on the 4 November 1847 and his emotional state can be judged from the fact that he changed the final four lines of the original text so that they reflect more directly on his own grief. Seamlessly mellifluous as ever, perhaps the most notable aspect is the occasional suggestion in the pianist’s right hand of the composer whose posthumous reputation Mendelssohn almost single-handedly secured: Johann Sebastian Bach.